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“Easier said.” He’d failed Berkley Johnson by not doing enough, soon enough, to protect him, which was why he was determined to keep Kerra in his sight. Not that having her within touch was hardship duty.
Trapper took a circuitous route from downtown, driving through residential neighborhoods, entering parking lots on one side and exiting on the other. Where traffic was heavier, he wove in and out of lanes, shot through yellow lights, made sharp turns at the last possible moment, constantly checking the rearview and side mirrors for a tail.
When he was certain they weren’t being followed, he backtracked in the same zigzagging way and now pulled to the curb in front of a neat, cottage-style house in one of Fort Worth’s established but recently refurbished neighborhoods.
Looking at the house, Kerra said, “This isn’t where I envisioned you living.”
“I don’t.”
“Then whose house is it?”
Disregarding the question, he said, “Come on.”
He got out on the driver’s side and went around. He ushered her up the front walk to the small, square porch where matching pots with narrow evergreen shrubs flanked a brick-red front door. An iron light fixture hung above it, but it was off.
Ignoring Kerra’s stare, which was demanding an explanation, he pressed the doorbell. It could be heard chiming inside. He continued to look straight ahead at the glossy surface of the door until the light fixture came on, the door was pulled open, and he was looking into the face of his former fiancée.
Marianne was as pretty and sweet-looking as ever. Her eyes were still guileless. But there were noticeable differences in her appearance. She was wearing her hair shorter, and, always trim before, her belly was now distended with advanced pregnancy.
She spoke his name softly.
“Hey, Marianne.”
Her smile was as wobbly as his felt. She said, “It’s good to see you.”
“You too. You look great.” Awkwardly, he motioned toward her midsection. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“When?”
“April.”
“Not long, then.”
She laughed in her self-deprecating way. “By the due date, believe me, I’ll be ready.”
“I’m glad for you,” he said, meaning it to his marrow.
“Thank you. I’m glad, too.” She continued looking into his eyes for several seconds more before shifting to Kerra.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Marianne, this is—”
“No introduction necessary. Welcome, Kerra.”
“Thank you.” Kerra reached across the threshold, and the two shook hands.
Marianne stood aside and motioned them in. Just as she closed the door behind them, a man stepped into the central hallway from one of the rooms opening off it. “Marianne, who—”
Upon seeing Trapper, he stopped as though he’d run into a glass wall, and, if hostility had a sound, he would have crackled. His bearing indicated that he’d like nothing better than to drop his book and reading glasses where he stood and lay into him.
In her quiet and unassuming way, Marianne tried to defuse the situation. “My husband, David. David, this is John Trapper.”
“What’s he doing here?”
Trapper said, “I won’t be here long.”
“Damn right, you won’t. In fact, you’re on your way out.”
